


Swing Life Away

by xianvar



Series: June Special: Bingo [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, HP: EWE, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-14 23:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11218857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xianvar/pseuds/xianvar
Summary: Harry bumps into an old acquaintance on his post-war summer vacation.Harry sputtered. “Malfoy!” Malfoy’s mouth was twitching now, a little as though he were trying not to smile. “I would never—I don’t just go around killing people!”And for a short, horrible moment he was sure he’d killed (pun not intended) the budding good mood between them, a high, cackling laughter in his ears. But then Malfoy shrugged again, an actual wry grin transforming his face into something that was a lot less ugly than his usual sneer, and said, “Well, you were the one bodily accosting me, so I’m sorry for being a bit wary.”





	Swing Life Away

**Author's Note:**

> Fill number two for the [FFC Bingo Card](http://kephiso.dreamwidth.org/6765.html#cutid1)!  
> This prompt was _sunburn_.  
>  Once again, unbeta'd, so if you notice anything amiss, let me know :)
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by _Rise Against_

Harry hissed as he tried to pull on his shirt, the skin on the back of his neck and his shoulders protesting immediately. _Carrying it in your hand it is,_ he told himself as he pulled the garment off again. The breeze did feel pretty good on his over-heated skin, and it was indeed a rather warm summer evening. There were worse things than going shirtless—and thankfully, people staring at the scars littering his body was not among them.

“Tststs,” made a voice behind Harry as he crossed to lobby to his room, and he fought the urge to turn around and see who was there. He was safe, nobody knew he was here, he _was not curious_. “Wanting the forces of nature to finish off what You-Know-Who failed–”

The realization that he did know this voice, that he (maybe) was not safe, that somebody knew he was there crashed over him like an icy wave, making way for the rush of adrenaline and _fight_ that he had thought he’d left behind him when he left England.

He didn’t have his wand on him (foolishly left in his room because he had thought he’d be safe here), but it didn’t matter; he whirled around before the other man had finished speaking and had him pinned to the wall with only minimal protest.

“Give me one reason,” Harry said, his arm across the man’s chest and hand on his throat, close enough not to leave a lot of room to wiggle but far enough away to still allow him to breathe and swallow. He put the other hand—the one that would usually direct his wand at the man’s throat—against his shoulder, pinning him even more effectively.  “One reason why I should not knock you out and leave you here, Malfoy?”

Wide grey eyes met his. Malfoy’s hands fluttered up, but he didn’t try to break free. His breathing was labored, his heart racing under Harry’s arm.

“You—you wouldn’t.” Malfoy didn’t phrase it as a question, but his voice made it clear that he was less sure than he’d like to be about Harry’s intentions.

Harry smiled, though he figured it probably came out more as a grimace or a baring of his teeth. “Self-defense is a thing.”

“I didn’t even attack you!” Some of the colour returned to Malfoy’s cheeks, ruddy flecks of a blush chasing the deathly pale. Something hit Harry’s arm, still planted firmly on Malfoy’s chest.

 _Blood_. There was blood dripping from Malfoy’s nose—right, Malfoy had gotten his own arm into his face, Harry remembered now. _Trust Malfoy to be this delicate_. Malfoy still made no move to fight or do anything about the new drop of blood threatening to drip from his nose.

“You might have,” he said, but he did step back, unsure what do to with his hands now—he wanted to stuff them into his pockets, but if he needed to defend himself—well.

“Merlin, Potter.” Malfoy laughed, a little shakily, and fished a handkerchief out of his pocket. Harry tensed only a little. “Don’t you think if I had wanted to hurt you I would not have announced myself before?”

Harry could feel his cheeks heat at that, though his burnt skin probably covered it up quite decently.

Malfoy dabbed at his nose, mouth twisting. “At least nothing’s broken, I guess.”

There was a weird tightness in Harry’s chest, which was probably what propelled him to offer, “I have a mild healing salve upstairs. If you want it.”

Malfoy gave him an inscrutable look, before he shrugged. “Well, at least if you’re planning to kill me, I’d trust you to make it quick.”

Harry sputtered. “Malfoy!” Malfoy’s mouth was twitching now, a little as though he were trying not to smile. “I would never—I don’t just go around killing people!”

And for a short, horrible moment he was sure he’d killed (pun not intended) the budding good mood between them, a high, cackling laughter in his ears. But then Malfoy shrugged again, an actual wry grin transforming his face into something that was a lot less ugly than his usual sneer, and said, “Well, you were the one bodily accosting me, so I’m sorry for being a bit wary.”

Harry shoved his shoulder, and tried not to think about how it felt a lot like camaraderie between them now.

~*~

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked as they waited for the elevator to arrive. It felt weird to be standing here with Malfoy, weird to see how casually he had pressed the button, as though he did nothing but interact with Muggle appliances every day.

 _He might be_ , a small voice whispered in his head, _it’s not as though you’ve seen a lot of him in the past year._ Which was true. The Malfoys had made themselves very sparse after the hearings at the ministry—Lucius was still behind bars for another couple of years, but Malfoy and his mother had not even gotten house arrest. Harry shouldn’t be bitter about it—it was his testimony after all that had let the two of them get off with nothing but monetary reparations—but some part of him still rankled at the thought that they’d gotten away so unscathed. He pushed that part down firmly.

“Hm?”he prompted again when Malfoy made no move to answer. The elevator dinged and they got in, Malfoy looking expectantly at Harry until he pushed the eight. Once the doors had closed, Malfoy sighed, pulling the handkerchief from his nose. The blood flow seemed to mostly have dried up by now, and Harry wondered why he had offered to take Malfoy up to his room.

“It was suggested to me that this would be a place where I would not be recognized quite as easily,” Malfoy finally said. His eyes had a far-away look in them, and for a moment, something warred on his face before his gaze focused on Harry. “I also needed to get away from my Mum. I love her—” _How could I not?_ Malfoy did not say, but Harry heard it nonetheless—“but things… are not easy now that… father is… not there.”

He eyed Harry defiantly, challenging him to make a disparaging remark or something. Harry was tempted to do just that, but they were in a tiny enclosed space and this time, he did not have the element of surprise, so he swallowed his words.

“Same for me, really,” he offered instead, and then thought about what he said again for a moment. “Well, not the—you know.” He made an aborted gesture, not quite meeting Malfoy’s eyes but catching the small smile nonetheless. Malfoy’s smiles were expressive, he realized, something he’d never realized before. But then, Malfoy had not had much cause to smile at him before, which might have been a reason.

They went quiet again, Malfoy’s gaze an almost palpable weight on Harry. He concentrated on the way the skin was tight on his shoulders, the way his arms ached from swimming all afternoon. An elevator ride had never felt that long.

~*~

 There was a mirror in the entry way of Harry’s hotel room, and a glimpse of his back in it was enough to make him stop short. This, in turn makes Malfoy bump into him, his cool, smooth hands at the same time blessing—since they were cool and smooth—and curse—since they did come in physical contact with his skin—at the same time. Harry grimaced, refusing to give any sound of distress. Malfoy had to have picked up on it through the mirror or his posture, though, because Harry could see him raise his hands in an _I’m innocent_ sort of gesture and back off.

“I think you need that healing salve more urgently than me.” From the sounds of it, Malfoy didn’t follow Harry further into the room.

Harry turned around and smiled a little self-deprecatingly. “That’s what happens when you fall asleep on the beach.” And then, without any conscious input from his mind, he could hear himself saying, “I’d appreciate it if you lent me a hand. For—you know, getting—putting the salve on my back.”

Harry tried to keep from blushing with all his might as Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. He might not have planned on saying that, but now it was out there, and it was true—he was still rather limber, but putting lotion or anything on his back was asking for a bit much. _Which is why I didn’t have any sunscreen on,_ he told himself and actually almost believed it.

Malfoy still didn’t move, so Harry sighed, feeling weirdly disappointed. “Never mind, let me patch you up and then you can be on your way.” It had been a stupid idea, anyway. He turned towards his suitcase, busying himself with searching the salve he was sure he had put in there before he had left—or rather, Hermione had made him put in there, but, same difference, really.

He straightened again, bottle in hand, turned around, and—found himself face to face with Malfoy. He could feel his heart jump at the unexpected closeness. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing towards his bed, his voice gruffer than intended. Malfoy raised his eyebrow again, skeptical and still so damned elegant. Harry wanted to make that expression disappear, but instead he deliberately put the bottle of salve next to the spot he had indicated Malfoy should sit down on as he said, “It’ll be easier for me to fix your nose that way.”

There was still dried blood on Malfoy’s nose. Harry debated using his wand to conjure a wet towel for a moment, but opted for the Muggle method instead. Using magic abroad in a Muggle location was frowned upon, and he wasn’t sure how tight surveillance was here. Seeing how they were in America, he would not be surprised if it was more than a mere hotel would warrant.

Malfoy was indeed sitting on the bed when he returned with a damp hand towel, looking a little bored but mostly neutrally content. His face really wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t sneering, Harry thought, and then pushed that thought away again.

“There you go,” he said, handing the towel over to Malfoy. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, Malfoy’s cool touch leaving a tingling sensation on Harry’s skin. He concentrated on watching Malfoy drag the towel over the lower half of his face, catching most of the blood. But not all of it; a small smudge remained on the side of his nose. “Do you want a mirror—or should I…?” Harry offered, not entirely sure which option he would prefer Malfoy to take.

He could see Malfoy hesitate and was just about to go and get his wand when something changed on Malfoy’s face. “I think it’s easier if… it’d be quicker if you did it.”

It was clear that just saying this had cost Malfoy a lot, and so Harry took the towel back without another word. He willed his hand not be sweaty as he reached out and took Malfoy’s pointy chin in his hand ( _it’s not as pointy as it used to be_ , he thought) and tilted his head so it was easier to wipe at the blood stain.

When he was satisfied that it was gone, he dropped the towel on the floor carelessly and leaned forward to get the tube of salve off the bed. Malfoy exhaled audibly, his breath ghosting over Harry’s side and making him shiver. He was suddenly irrevocably aware of their physical proximity, and that awareness made his heart kick into overdrive again. He forced himself to keep moving, and if he righted himself a little quicker than he had leaned over; well, Malfoy didn’t mention it.

His hands were steady when he squeezed a dollop of lotion onto his finger tips and threw it back onto the bed gently. He dabbed it onto Malfoy’s nose carefully enough that Malfoy didn’t even give a twitch of discomfort.

He smeared the rest of the salve still on his fingers on his burning shoulders, a cool counterpoint that made him want to jump into a pool full of the stuff.

“Do you want me to give you a hand?” Malfoy asked, something in his voice that Harry couldn’t really name. His hands stilled.

“Yeah,” he said, a heartbeat too late. The sheets rustled as Malfoy stood up, and the clack of the lid snapping shut again was startlingly loud in the silence of the room.

“It would probably be easier, if you turned around,” Malfoy said, spreading the lotion on his hands. It made his skin shimmer faintly, and Harry wondered how he’d look with sunscreen on his pale skin, if it would give him an almost preternatural glow. “Potter?”

Harry startled out of his thoughts and could feel yet more heat rising in his cheeks, though when he turned, he could see in the mirror that it was barely visible on his tanned skin.

“I’m going to put my hands on your shoulders now.” There was something layered in his voice still that Harry could not define, but it was probably just Malfoy being determinedly civil. _Hard to believe I’m actually turning my back on him,_ Harry thought, and then Malfoy did touch him, and all coherent thought fled his mind.

His hands were wonderfully cool, the lotion soothing previously omnipresent stinging of his sun-burnt skin, and he almost moaned at the relief it brought. He could feel himself relax, even with Malfoy at his back, and when Malfoy chuckled, his breath catching on Harry’s wet skin made him shiver.

~*~

 _Of course_ Malfoy was in the lobby the next morning (well, okay, it was approaching noon, but—it was a vacation, so surely that still counted as morning?) when Harry made his way downstairs. He was perusing some of the magazines laid out on tables, and Harry silently debated whether he should say hi or not.

“Ah, Potter.” Malfoy straightened when he saw Harry, and any thought of pretending he hadn’t seen Malfoy was moot.

“Malfoy.” Harry hesitated, unsure what to say next. It would be weird to simply walk past after last evening, right?

“You were probably headed to the beach.” The statement hung in the air for a long and awkward moment, too much statement and too little question for Harry to know how to answer immediately.

“Er—not right away.” He swallowed, inexplicably nervous. “I was actually headed for lunch first. Would you like to come along?”

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised by his offer, though Malfoy caught himself quickly enough. “Where are you headed?” he asked, even as he was already coming over. He was dressed all in white, which made him seem even more starkly pale than usual.

“Wasn’t quite sure.” Harry shrugged. “I figured I’d settle on something down at the strip of restaurants.”

Malfoy smiled. “There is a pretty good Tapas place down there, they serve a light brunch kind of thing till noon. Fancy that?”

And thus Harry found himself walking down to a restaurant side by side with Malfoy. There was no way this vacation could get weirder, was there?

~*~

There was a way for the vacation to get weirder. For one, Harry found himself bumping into Malfoy _everywhere_. They hadn’t parted ways after lunch, instead heading down to the beach together and, which was possibly the strangest thing Harry had ever done including patching up Malfoy the day before (because that had sort of been his fault), applying sunscreen to each other’s backs.

 ( _“I’d like to see you put it on properly yourself without magic,” Malfoy had replied with only the tiniest of sour looks when Harry had pointed that out, and, well, he did have a point. Also, Harry’s  skin truly couldn’t take another sunburn._ )

But also at dinner that evening—also no surprise, since it was served in the hotel they both were staying at—and then the next morning as he was heading to the water park to try the slides, and the day after that on the beach once more, and before Harry knew it, he was pacing the lobby one morning, impatiently waiting for Malfoy to show up.

 _When did this happen?_ he asked himself, but then Malfoy appeared, once again all in white, and Harry realized that he’d gotten a _tan_ and that that tan actually suited him, and then he was too busy trying not to think about the feeling of Malfoy’s hands on his skin to spare any brain power to this weird sort of … of friendship they were developing.

~*~

“How long are you staying for?” Harry asked, pulling his towel closer around himself. They’d stayed at the beach to watch the sun set, and it was cooling rapidly now.

He saw Malfoy shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Mother wanted me gone for at least three weeks.”

Harry very determinedly did think about how they still had enough money to send their son on a three week vacation in the US.

“You?” Malfoy asked.

Harry fisted his hands in his towel. “Till the end of the week.”

“Oh,” Malfoy said, and it almost sounded like disappointment was in his voice. Harry could sort of understand that. The time here—it didn’t feel real. It felt like a dream, and Harry dreaded heading back to England, drab and full of reminders of those who were not there anymore.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, his voice startlingly gentle. “I—thanks.”

Harry looked at him. Malfoy’s face was sober, serious. He looked—he looked a lot different than he had in school. He looked like an adult, Harry realized. And possibly like a friend.

“Whatever for?” he asked, trying to think what he had done that would warrant gratitude.

“For being you.” Malfoy averted his gaze, staring at the horizon just barely visible in the dim light of evening.

Harry gave an incredulous laugh. “I’d hardly think that was something you’d thank me for.”

Malfoy grinned, a wry expression that actually seemed to be at home on his face. Harry still marveled at how open his face could be, how well he wore the friendly expressions. “I wouldn’t have thought so either.” He turned back to face Harry. “This time here—” Malfoy swallowed, eyes darting over Harry’s face as though he were looking for something. Harry didn’t know if he found it or not, but Malfoy took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Harry’s gut twisted, a weird thrill racing through his body. “It was pretty—fun,” Malfoy said, and his eyes were soft as they finally settled on Harry’s.

Malfoy bit his lip, another one of those open, vulnerable expressions that drew Harry’s eyes to it almost of their own volition. Malfoy’s lips were darker, too, he thought, and then he yanked his eyes back up to Malfoy’s own, feeling a blush crawl up his cheeks.

“I’m still here for another couple of days,” he said, voice weirdly hoarse, and then bent to pick up his beach things. It shattered whatever weird mood had been between them, and Harry was probably wrong, but Malfoy’s expression seemed almost regretful.

“We could explore the city tomorrow a little,” Harry suggested as they turned to leave, Malfoy close enough by his side that the towel he had slung over his shoulders tickled Harry’s arm. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Malfoy was still staring at him, though he somehow didn’t dare confirm that. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen barely anything of it, for all that I’ve been here for more than two weeks.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Malfoy agreed, and there was definitely something weird in voice, though Harry couldn’t for the life of him name it. Or maybe he just didn’t dare to.

~*~

“Potter— _aaah!_ ”

Malfoy squealed, higher than Harry would have thought possible. He narrowed his eyes at Harry, brushing the wet sand off his flat stomach deliberately before pushing himself up, still with slow even movements. The grin on his face was almost a little frightening, and Harry found himself slowly backing away, eyes trained on Malfoy, an answering smile on his own face.

Running around in the city had been fun, but this—Malfoy almost falling asleep on the beach, a book on his face to block out the worst of the sunlight, being so amazingly startled at Harry’s sneak attack—this was almost better, and Harry wasn’t sure why. He also didn’t get a chance to ponder it further, because Malfoy suddenly launched himself at him, a surprising show of speed and strength.

Harry laughed and dashed away, Malfoy hot on his heels and gaining ground, partly due to the fact that Harry could not stop laughing.

“Potter!” Malfoy yelled, and then he tackled Harry from behind, sending both of them sprawling into the sand. Harry laughed again, trying to scrabble out of Malfoy’s hold. The sand was warm and dry beneath him, terrible to gain footing on, and so all Harry managed was to turn himself around until he was on his back, staring up into Malfoy’s impossibly grey eyes.

He could feel the laughter drain out of him, chased away by a tension that made Harry’s nerves sing, that made his stomach flutter. Malfoy had pretty eyes.

“Potter.” Malfoy’s voice came out a hushed whisper, so intimate it made Harry’s toes curl, and he wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly his hand was on the nape of Malfoy’s neck, pulling him in even as Malfoy was skinning down onto his elbow, his hands scrabbling over Harry’s chest and leaving a scorching trail in their wake.

Malfoy’s lips tasted of saltwater and sweat and sunscreen, and he kissed like a drowning man, like Harry was his lifeline. Harry’s other hand found its way down Malfoy’s side, eliciting a giggle ( _he hadn’t even known Malfoy was ticklish_ ), settling firmly on his lower back as he kissed Malfoy back like he was similarly starving; and maybe he was, because there was a hunger in his belly that gave him the strength to flip them, treacherous sand be damned.

Malfoy went with the motion, even when their teeth clanked into each other, noses bumping from the impact of Malfoy’s back with the ground. They pulled apart, breathless, grinning.

“Bloody hell,” Harry murmured against Malfoy’s lips, and then claimed them in another kiss.

Finding their way back to where their bags and clothes were was another adventure, but one they braved hand in hand. And if the trek back took a little longer, or if one of them never reached his room that night—well, who was there to tell?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you feel like it, come say hi at my [DW](https://kephiso.dreamwidth.org). I promise I don't bite! :D


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